Damien’s private jet landed at The Airport just after 7 PM. By 8:15, the elevator doors to the penthouse opened and he stepped inside, still dressed in his tailored black suit from the London meetings. Exhaustion from the transatlantic flight lingered in his shoulders, but his expression remained as cold and composed as ever.
Martin had already informed him that Evelyn was waiting as requested. Dinner had been prepared.
He found her in the dining area, standing near the windows overlooking the glittering city. She wore a simple soft gray dress that fell modestly to her knees. Her dark hair was loose, and she looked smaller somehow against the vast backdrop of the penthouse.
Evelyn turned when she heard his footsteps. “Welcome back,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the visible
